


Point Blank

by Morpheel



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Edgeplay, Exhibitionism, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, M/M, Master/Slave, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Public Humiliation, Public Sex, Red Army Meeting, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 14:55:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13790091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morpheel/pseuds/Morpheel
Summary: Red Leader gets bored during one of his many mandatory Army debriefings; so he finds something far more interesting to put his attention onto instead.Tom just has to roll with the punches.





	Point Blank

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be only 1000-2000 words. I fucked up and doubled it, again. But anyways enjoy this- it has porn and a hell of a lot of plot sprinkled in on the side.

“And furthermore, we need to allocate enough assets to sustain the west wing, given that the flu has rapidly spread to the point it has stricken up to 65% of troops present…”

Boring.

“The soldiers within the United States are poised to begin overthrow of their government, with just enough dirty money being passed to the senate for them to turn their heads the other way should we strike at the heart…”

Boring.

“We need to send proper rations to the bases located within the poles, given that the snowy tundras have proven hard to cultivate for oil in the time given. Within a month they will be at the bare minimum of their supplies…”

Fucking boring.

Red Leader listened to each report that the various wings of his command center had to present. Despite the quick-business efforts of a circular debriefing, there never seemed to be a lapse in the pathetically mundane drabble that always seemed to compose an army.

He was already in the process of writing an approval for nearly every single proposition when the reports just kept coming. His pen was tapping impatiently against the table, a rhythm for a potential anthem of his rising conquest. It was something to focus on besides this mouth drabble spewing from each high ranking commander.

Each one was within their rights to act on these impulses without his permission, and yet here they were, with stacks of paperwork already succeeding in giving him a rising migraine.

He had half of a mind to remove his helmet just for the sole purpose of rubbing at his throbbing temples. Scars and missing eye be damned.

At least it was easy to block out their meaningless shit with only half of his attention set, enough to offer a small nod in the face of their hesitant and petrified expressions. It was no secret that negative reports could be met with a gun to the face, should their messengers prove to be insolent or insufferable to Red Leader’s tastes.

He’d rather leave the side work to Paul and Patryk regardless. He was busy designing new weapons and gadgets for his soldiers to use, not dealing with said soldiers needing more toilet paper to wipe their asses with.

That simply wasn’t in his priorities.

In the middle of an explanation for gas and electric reserves he silenced the room with a simple snap of his fingers, his metallic hand wrapped about the handle of a comically thin champagne glass. Everyone froze in what they were doing, the woman giving the report visibly swallowing down her anxiety as Tord lifted the glass to his side.

A scruffy looking servant was scurrying to him, borderline tripping over himself, in order to present the champagne bottle to Tord. It was a gift from a foreign ambassador rallying for peace. It made it far sweeter to drink after shooting the man’s head off and securing the nation to his growing force.

With a brief nod he allowed the servant to fill it with trembling fingers, his breath held as if one single drop falling onto Tord’s exoskeleton covering would cause the mechanics behind it to latch about his own throat rather than the glass.

Seems like someone must have told him about the fate of his last servant.

With the glass once more filled he brought it to his lips. The cool alcohol went smoothly down his throat, quelling the rising headache with the dull burn that such a low proof of alcohol could provide. He placed the glass down, head turning back up as if expecting the woman to speak again.

Yet there was still silence, enough so that he had to raise his hand once more and spin it in a hurry up motion. Instantly the woman was bowing in apology, lifting her papers once more with shaking fingers, voice cracking and unsteady as she continued on about the plans for pipe placement within a potential new storage building.

Boring.

He spun the champagne glass with lazy twists of his fingers, eyes roaming over the paper before him. There was no reason for the pipes to cost this much, he mused, before sliding it towards Matt. The man instantly pulled out his monocle and put it over his single organic eye. He had a truly exceptional eye to quality, even if he lost his other to a smart mouth.

It was amazing to see how the army had hardened his old friends.

Matthew was truly an obedient man since Tord broke his spirit, beat the idiocy straight from his bones, instilling a sense of deep loyalty much akin to how a dog would be treated. It pleased him to see the once naïve and trusting boy turn into such a stone cold soldier.

He was perfect for handling the financial aspects of the job.

While Matt handled the details of the paperwork he crossed his fingers together and leaned forward, power exuding from his form in a way that he knew garnered respect from his loyal troops. Not only was the Red Leader the true brains behind the organization- he was a symbol.

He was far beyond just their leader.

Tord was the face of the new world, the expression of hope, a force that not even explosions nor gunshot could destroy. In his follower’s eyes he was akin to a god. Unkillable, unstoppable, and commanding a sense of respect that nations feared and others envied.

It was a power rush at times that swayed into dangerous territory, pulsing through his veins a sense of entitlement. He **was** their god in a sense.

He enjoyed it.

Yet there was only so long that he could handle with this pointless rabble. They were no more than halfway around the table when frustration finally gripped his bones, curious as to why so many people felt the need to present such mundane and stupid information before their leader. Unless territory was encroached upon, weapon supplies drew short, or negotiations needed to be made- he felt no need to be a part of this pathetic relay.

Tord nearly broke the champagne glass when he lifted it next, emptying the container with a single gulp. The flavors were hardly appreciated as such, but it helped to take the edge off. He placed it down and immediately it was filled again without prompt.

His eyes were traveling the crowd before him, attempting to find interest in such dull conversation. Paul was guarding the door next to Yuu, with Yanov keeping the blinds closed to prying eyes. Matt was working on the paperwork still, flipping through key points, eyebrows knit in concentration.

Edd stood off to the side, borderline hiding within the shadows of the corner as he awaited potential orders. Despite Red’s attempts at beating obedience into him, he remained steady, his own loose cannon to whatever whims he pleased. His eyes held a darkness within their hazel depths, hatred burning strong.

He was good at what he did, though, whenever Tord needed someone discreetly dead. Red chose not to ask questions of how Edd operated. Results were results, and he knew that his once-friend could provide.

Finally his eyes landed on the form just to his left, striking an imposing figure in a neat button down and slicked hair. His pistol stood tall at his side, LED eyes remaining completely fixed forward, an air of danger always radiating from his form.

He was Tord’s ultimate weapon, and most trusted Intel. There was something so satisfying having the very one responsible for his horrendous disfigurement pressed so tight under his thumb- not a single ounce of disobedience left within him.

Tom looked to be more of a statue than a man as he stood, body tense, locked to his spot and always diligent to any threat that could befall his leader. One time he managed to catch the motion of his general pulling out a gun before the man could even lift it from his pocket.

It turned into a messy cleanup rather than a real meeting.

Such loyalty was often rewarded.

His non-organic hand moved out to smooth down the line of Tom’s suit in a single stroke. He could feel the flinch in his touch, before steadily his monster relaxed with the repeated motion, shoulders lazing yet eyes remaining fixed.

It gave Red Leader a truly heinous idea- one that would be considered unprofessional at best.

His hand went to possessively curl around the slight divot of Tom’s hips, pulling him closer much to the other’s surprise. Questioning eyes turned towards Tord, before he merely clicked his tongue to order Tom’s head forward once more. He could feel the slight pull of the suit against his hips, enjoying the small divot, no matter how thin is was.

Tom fit well against his side as Tord pet him like a pedigree dog, the warmth and power radiating from his metallic hand no doubt eliciting fear within his charge. Tom had experienced the full blunt of the power Tord’s prosthetic and exoskeleton firsthand.

It was a wonderful first test run.

Yet despite his interest in his solider, nobody really questioned it, content to continue at the same speed they had been presenting before. It was grating his patience more than Tord wanted to admit, his fingers tracing idle patterns along Tom’s hip.

By the time the next person was up for report Tord had enough.

His hand tightened around Tom’s waist when he pulled him closer, ornate chair scooting back easily as he moved into an upright position. He uncrossed his legs from where they rested, now planted firmly to the ground and giving him enough room for his intentions.

 There was palatable shock in the air as Thomas was planted firmly onto his thighs, all eyes in the room turning to the duo as Tord settled his weapon comfortably into his lap. His hands pressed down the wrinkles in Tom’s pants, before coming back up and placing the metallic palms onto the front of the table again.

He crossed his fingers together, displeasure clear in his tone as he stated, “Did I tell you to stop and stare? Continue.”

Shaken from their trances, it was almost amusing to see the way they continuously scrambled to please their leader. The meeting continued on without any further interruptions, nobody daring to open their mouths and question just why Tord’s hands just couldn’t seem to sit still on his most favored soldier.

They were untucking his jacket in lazy tugs, feeling along his tight and tense stomach, before delving down to his thighs and teasing along the sensitive skin there. Tom’s shivering was already affecting the dictator, feeling how those smooth thighs would clench together tight to try and mask the unmistakable arousal steadily filling his dress pants.

Tord found the aspect to be pleasing; pleasing enough to shift Tom’s hips closer and let him feel just how his boredom affected him.

Patryk at his side made quite the show of staring, knowing exactly just what was going down, before sighing and just turning his attention away with a roll of his eyes. It was exactly the kind of reaction he liked to see, given their close relationship. No doubt if anyone else did the same they would be the next target practice to his rookie soldiers.

Instead Red felt a growing sense of pride as he tuned out the drawling reports in front of him. He was much in favor of palming the front of Tom’s pants, feeling the way each squeeze drew a small twitch from his captive. Despite the palming Tom remained at full attention, the picture of poised and refined, even as his legs wound up subtly spreading more for Tord’s wandering hands.

He squeezed the full mast of his cock, before sliding his hand further back to palm the entire package in his hold. It was a delicate balance, knowing one squeeze of his grip could harm his pet in ways that would go beyond merely saying.

Perhaps it was that appeal that had Tord licking his lips under his helmet, smile no doubt visible from the slit in his mask.

The sound of a zipper cut through the quiet atmosphere of the conference room. Tom’s embarrassment and humiliation shone bright from the flush on his cheeks, aware that while there was no visibility below his waist, the mere implications were obvious in everyone’s eyes. He felt overwhelmed.

Yet his orders were clear. Keep a straight face, remain professional, and continue on as if he didn’t have a warm metallic palm wrapping around his cock. He was hanging heavy outside of his slacks and boxers, exposed to the cold air, shivering at how sensitive each bump and smooth plating of metal made him feel.

He had to lock his ankles on the chair to prevent his legs from squeezing closed at how sensitive he was. It was a slow drag that Tord did- starting with completely engulfing the crown with his palm before stroking down with a simple twist of his wrist.

It was a full body sensation that had Tom shaking, lower lip pulled between his teeth in an effort to stop himself from making any noises. It was rare that Red wanted to be intimate with him in ways like this, the man borderline married to his job, so it was almost bittersweet he would mix the two in such a way.

He let his eyes close for a fraction of a second, before jolting when he received a harsh squeeze in response. Instead he let himself fall back against Tord’s chest, eyes open, refusing to make eye contact with anyone even as Tord’s hand withdrew to rummage through his jacket. He returned with a bottle of lube, uncapping it with a flick of his thumb, before attempting to squeeze some into his palm.

Tom didn’t exactly want to defy orders, or put himself on Red’s bad side, but it was clear that the general was struggling as he grunted under his breath. Tom’s hands skitted up hesitantly to brush against Tord’s, gripping the bottle, before laxing in relief when Tord offered it up without a fight.

He squirted a good dollop onto Red’s fingers, letting him work it through, before Tom turned his head back forward the moment his task was done. He figured that Tord would want him to remain attentive- some kind of kink of his, if Tom had to guess.

The brunette had to spread his legs wider for Tord to get proper access, the fly of his jeans making for a true obstacle for something as thick as Tord’s metallic prosthetic. He damn well nearly split his seam in two when Tord forced his wrist in regardless, sliding past Thomas’s balls, before pressing two lubed fingers against the rim of his entrance.

It became far harder for Tom to remain stoic, not with Tord prodding around and smearing the slick digits about with no real stimulation to push them inside. He almost wanted to scream from impatience, the report still drawling on with no end in sight.

Yet he remained stationary, muscles tensed, refusing to budge even when a single digit broke forward and pushed inside of him far easier than Tom liked to admit. He was quite active, despite their leader’s attachment to his job, to the point where it was easy to keep himself stretched.

However instead of bouts within Tord’s office, Tom could admit he didn’t exactly see this circumstance of exhibitionism coming. It had a warm coil building within his stomach as the prying fingers only reached deeper inside of him, a second making way to third, before Tom damn well nearly rocketed out of Tord’s lap when the fingers buzzed to life right as they hit his prostate.

It was a true test of self-control to taper off his groan into something more subdued, brushing it off with a simple clearing of his throat.

Yet from the look on Matt’s face when he spared him a glance, pity in the other’s single blue eye, Tom knew that he wasn’t fooling anyone.

He could have collapsed with relief when it seemed that Tord was content on that reaction, withdrawing his fingers in favor of pulling down the hem of his pants.

There was no way to discreetly do this.

Tom allowed his hips the slightest bit of give for Tord to lift them, adjusting his legs as needed to properly fall the material to his knees. The burn of humiliation brightened as he took in the varying states of shock and bafflement upon all of the commander’s faces. While not a single person dared to speak up, nor stop their reading, it was clear that discomfort and awkwardness spurred them to read faster.

Tord was hardly even listening- too content to palm exposed flesh and drag heated metal between Tom’s thighs. It was a dizzying clash of sensations rolling through him, causing his eyes to flutter shut and thighs to squeeze tightly in response.

He felt Red’s cock sitting comfortably against the cleft of his ass, twitching, enticing him to give a subtle roll of his hips. It was a guilty pleasure to enjoy teasing Tord when he could. He felt that hint of control over the situation, the sense of entitlement that _he_ was the one who drew the reactions from their esteemed leader.

Yet the next roll of his hips resulted in Tord gripping his sides, catching him by surprise, before leaning forward and growling in a timbre that had shivers rolling down Tom’s side. “Stay still.”

As much as it sucked to remain stationary despite the strain in his position, he didn’t dare disobey, hips raised just enough he feared that others would see something far more suggestive than just muted motions. He tried to keep his facial features schooled, refusing to let an ounce of hesitance show.

He could hear the lube slicking Tord’s cock, wet noises followed by a soft sigh causing Tom to shiver in anticipation. He already knew to expect the blunt presence of Tord against his ass- yet the feeling still took him by surprise regardless. It was a slight tug on his hips that had Tom moving again, bearing down on that pressure until finally shuttering when the head pushed past the tight ring.

Both pistol and leader sighed in unison as Tom clenched tight around the intrusion, attempting to relax himself in slow increments as his thighs ached from keeping himself upright. He shifted himself ever so to allow just a bit more to push inside, the only hints towards his adjustment being the occasional flinch he just couldn’t seem to mask.

Tord was pretty fucking big.

It made the sudden snap of his hips all the more punishing, the slow and steady pace replaced with Tord’s insistence to pushing him down near immediately. It had Tom crying out under his breath, eyes squeezed tightly shut at the burst of sensation rolling through him.

The room was once more silent, Tom slumping forward with a breathless exhale leaving him. He didn’t dare look up, not when he was sure that the atmosphere was irreparably shifted towards awkward. He only dared to look to his side, taking in Matt’s muted horror, before allowing the LED screen to shift closed once more.

He didn’t want to look at the others.

Tord’s arms fitted comfortably around him, resting on the curve of his waist, while hands idly trailed the sides of his hips in slow patterns. It took him merely a moment to realize that everyone had gone silent.

His tone dripped a malice that had the tension in the room snapped towards inconceivable levels, hand coming down to slam onto his desk with enough force to splinter the fine oak. “Did I tell any of you to stop the reports?”

The speed at which every arm in the room raised into a salute was almost impressive, should it not struck Tom as mildly pathetic. Everyone’s unison chant of “No sir” grated on Tom’s nerves, enough so that he distracted even himself from the display with a roll of his hips.

The sudden adjustment had stung, though, so it was with a small grimace that he began to move. At least it succeeded in pulling Tord’s attention off of them once more, content to lean back in his chair and once more subjecting himself to the mundane rambles of an army’s updates.

Only now with the addition of a pleasant warmth about his cock.

Tom kept his motions miniscule and light, knowing full well that anything more would cause more of a scene than he would care to admit to. Even if steadily that subtle sting began to change, giving way to a pleasant full body shutter that had him stifling a pleasant sigh the deeper that Tord rocked within him.

He could feel the way Tord’s hips moved in response, subtly circling in a manner that stirred Tom’s insides with each lazy pass. It was a dizzying combination of sensations about him, eyes struggling to stay open and forward despite the subdued motions.

It was the whole atmosphere of it all.

Rather than a rough bout between the sheets or pressed to his leader’s desk, this was something almost taboo, so slow and sensual compared to the harsh and quick pace they were known to do. It left him feeling so full he hardly knew what to do, unable to make more of a scene than the slow roll of his waist under the line of the desk.

It was a steady build from that point on. While Red miraculously focused on the reports with something to properly occupy his attention, Tom was able to keep a straight face, even as the steady stimulation had his body aching in ways he couldn’t fathom.

He craved the feeling, wanting desperately to just let himself get thrown down across the desk and **beg** for something more. Anything to quell the building inferno within his bones, anything to bring him down from the high that Tord brought him to.

Legitimately **anything** would be better than when Tord’s palm wrapped around his neglected cock once more, petting it distractedly in a manner one might stroke a cat on their lap. It was equal parts humiliating and equal parts exciting, attempting to steel his breath and keep his hips as steady as he could.

Yet miraculously he managed to survive the next 30 minutes, as the reports came to a close, and Red finalized each proposed change with steady scribbles of his name over the twelve documents before him. Matt adjusted the finer details of the documents, proposing additional budget changes- yet never really able to keep his blue eye off of Tom.

There was a deep rooted pity shining from behind that thin veil, carefully masked in a way that Tord hopefully shouldn’t notice- but it wouldn’t matter regardless. Tord knew what people thought of his relationship with Thomas.

They wouldn’t understand anyways.

It was with a final goodbye that he parted with the leading commanders of his army, leaving them with words of encouragement to continue their exceptional work in the field. The salutes he received in response were genuinely pleasing to his already elated mood, offering a raise of his hand in return.

The only person that remained in a poor mood was none other than Edd. The man strolled forward in a slow gait, hands tucked within the pocket of his trench coat, before fixing Tord with a single glance before exiting the room with Matthew.

There was murder hidden within those Hazel eyes, dark and foreboding, before he turned back and made his way out of the room with a heavy slam of the metal door.

The room felt so much larger without two dozen bodies crammed inside of it.

Tom could feel the seconds ticking by in his internal clock, tauntingly slow- until the sudden motion of Red threw his sense of balance completely sideways. He found himself spread out over the desk in an instant, hands scrabbling for purchase against the surface, before freezing up the moment that Tord’s entire posture changed.

What started as a slow build turned into a rapid descent, the lines of his hips digging into the corner of the wood as Red spread him fully forward. His metallic prosthetics easily kept his hips lifted regardless, the exoskeleton keeping his cheek pressed to the oak. “Now that we’re alone..” he drawled, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Why don’t we have some real fun, my little Spitfire?”  


**Author's Note:**

> Yeah sorry about that cutoff but I ran out of writing juice and I don't plan on writing more than that. But hey, hope you enjoyed it anyways.  
> Please comment and kudos I'm actually starving for validation here.


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